Love at First Sight Series Boxed Set: (Books 1-5) Page 22

  His words shock me, stabbing my tender heart anew. “I—I don’t what you’re talking about. He seems fine to me.”

  “That’s because he’s only showing you what he wants you to see. Be a good little girl, and take the money. That’s what you’re after anyway, isn’t it? Your plan is to take Mr. Calder for as much moolah as you can get. Right?”

  Suddenly feeling dizzy, I shake my head to try and clear the cobwebs this man is spinning around my brain. “No. I mean, I do need some food, and Rhett offered to help me out, but I turned him down. I know teachers don’t make much. I told him I would get a job and take care of myself.”

  I steal a glance at Hawk and see the same confused expression on his face as he had put on mine.

  He rubs his chin, squinting his eyes at me. “So this thing you have for him is some sort of little crush or something? And you really don’t know who he is?”

  “All I know is, Rhett sent a crazy man to pick me up.”

  “Very funny. What else do you know?”

  “Only what he’s told me. That he is a twenty-six-year-old art teacher. And Moon Crescent High is only his second teaching job.”

  “All of that is true.”

  I roll my eyes. “Given those facts, how could I be viewed as a gold digger? Educators are grossly underpaid across the country but even more so in the southern sections.”

  “His immense wealth doesn’t come from the school system. It comes from sold-out art shows in famous galleries all over the world. Maybe you’ve heard the name Rhettington Alexander Calder.”

  I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands. His name is synonymous with riches and cloaked in mystery and intrigue. Can my teacher really be the enigmatic painter that the patrons of his art shows have never met or even caught a glimpse of?

  “I’ve read online articles and blogs about the man you’re referencing, but I had no idea my Mr. Calder was him.”

  “He’s not yours. And you aren’t his. The sooner you accept that and walk away, the better it will be for both of you.”

  Flipping the stack of hundreds back in Hawk’s face, I half-climb, half-crawl out of his death machine and go inside my house without looking back. I most certainly won’t be going to school today. I need time to think. To digest what I’ve just learned.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rhett Calder

  PACING THE LENGTH OF Hawk’s hotel room like a wild animal who’s been caged, I bark, “You fucking did what?”

  “I tried to pay her off. I thought she was after your money like so many others have been. I figured if she took the cash and ran, you’d see her for what she was. Then you could get yourself right again.”

  I grab him by the collar and slam him up against the paper-thin walls of his Hyatt Regency room. “When she didn’t show up at school, I figured you had pulled some dumbass stunt like this.”

  With Hawk’s head lolling against a grotesque replica of a well-known 1931 realism painting and his palms in the air, signaling surrender, he says, “I’m sorry. Maybe I was wrong about her being a gold digger, but I wasn’t wrong about her destroying you.”

  Feeling exhausted, I release him and step back. “She isn’t the problem. It’s my fucked-up brain. The insidiousness of a disease which never sleeps.”

  Hawk takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I get that. But OCD hasn’t ruled you in a long time. You made it your bitch years ago. Now, you’re losing control again, and you are lying to me and yourself if you say it has nothing to do with her.” He runs his hands through his hair, something he does a lot when he is frustrated.

  “Violet makes me better, not worse. So drop it.”

  “I’ll let it all go if you tell me what it is about this girl that has you so spellbound. I mean, sure she’s got a nice set of tits. A great ass and a pretty face. But so do a lot of other women. Ones who are older. Ones who are not in your high school art class.”

  “There’s no other woman on the face of the earth who affects me like Violet Driscoll does. One look and I was enchanted. One touch and I was lost. One taste and I was hers. It took one second for her to steal my breath. One minute for her to rule my cock. One hour for her to capture my heart.”

  “Shit fire and save fucking matches, man! It’s too damn late, isn’t it? You’re already obsessed with her.”

  “Painting has been my salvation, but this woman is the only one who can truly calm my mind.”

  Hawk pushes himself off the wall, turns and punches a hole in it. I know him well enough to know he wanted to sink his fist into my gut instead.

  Rubbing his bloody knuckles against his jeans, he shakes his head and says, “You can’t have her, Rhett. She’s your student. Nobody gives a fuck she’s eighteen. The moral laws governing the Bible Belt of the South are deeply infused into its citizens. They will crucify and then burn you at the stake if you become intimately involved with her. She isn’t worth you losing everything.”

  “She’s worth far more than you will ever know, Hawk. I’m going to take Violet some groceries now. I need to see for myself she’s all right.”

  “Going to that girl’s house isn’t a good idea.”

  “You staying in town isn’t a good idea.”

  “Too bad. I’m not going anywhere. This shit is going to blow sky high. And when it does, when you’re lying in a heaving, massacred heap on the floor and your brain is riddled with emotional shrapnel, I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say, turning on my heel. Before slamming the door behind me, I growl, “Stay the hell away from Violet.”

  AS I LOAD SEVERAL bags of groceries into the Kia, my mind keeps wandering back to the strained exchange between me and Hawk. Like a lot of best buddies do, we swore to never let a woman come between us. But I guess there comes a time in every man’s life when that division is inevitable. If it can happen to The Beatles, it can happen to anybody.

  The drive to Violet’s house is a short one. There’s an Ingles Market conveniently located about five miles from where she lives. When I pull into her driveway, my heart clenches at the sight her sitting on the front stoop. She looks so sad and forlorn. I want nothing more than to wrap her up in my arms, carry her upstairs to her bedroom and make love to her all night. But I won’t. As much as I hate to admit it, Hawk was right about the townspeople and how they would view such an indiscretion.

  Extracting the bags from my car, I say, “How’s my favorite pupil feeling?”

  She stands, opening the front door, silently inviting me in. Shrugging, she says, “I’ve been a lot better.”

  I follow the diamond-patterned carpet through the living room and into the hallway before taking a sharp left into her kitchen. My feet seem to remember every step of the way. I can feel her close on my heels, knowing if I come to a sudden halt, her beautiful, bountiful breasts will slam softly into my back. The temptation to instigate such a collision is overwhelming, but I resist.

  Setting the bags on the counter, I turn to face the woman I’ve been dying to see all day long. Just as she had instructed me to do when we shared that glass of lemonade, I tell her the same thing. “Take a load off. I’ll put these things away and fix us some supper.”

  She offers me a small smile. “I appreciate the food, but you don’t have to cook for me. And I’m going to pay you back for all of this as soon as I get a job. I’ve been looking online, and there’s an opening for a salesperson at the pottery barn down on the interstate. I’m going to fill out an application and email it first thing in the morning,” she says, plopping down on a rickety kitchen chair. It sways under her, making me nervous. I need to buy her a new set of chairs, too.

  Having unpacked the groceries and put the perishables in the fridge, I walk over to the table. Violet’s head is hanging down. Gone is the jubilant, energetic, happy girl I met at the rodeo. Inwardly, I curse Hawk for this change in her demeanor. But I’m going to fix it right now.

  Lifting her chin so I can gaze into those pools of bourbon-brown, I say,
“You won’t be working at the pottery barn or anywhere else. Your only job is to enjoy your senior year, graduate and become the masterful painter you were meant to be.”

  She frowns. “That’s a lovely notion but completely unrealistic, Rhett. As you can see, I am without family or funds. And after what your buddy Hawk accused me of today, I would die before taking a penny of your money.”

  “Hawk was way out of fucking line. I’ve since set him straight. You will accept my financial support and do as I have told you.”

  “Why should I obey your commands and accept your charity? Because you’re the almighty Rhettington Alexander Calder?”

  “No, because I’m Mr. Rhett Calder, your art teacher. Because I miraculously found you at a rodeo, and you changed the course of my life. Because even if I can’t take you like a man in love takes the woman of his dreams, I can make you the best fucking artist in the whole damn world,” I say, caressing her cheek. “Together, we can create everlasting beauty and endless harmony on the canvas. We’ll use colors and shadows and shapes to express our hopes, dreams and desires, subtly but surely showing everyone around us exactly how much we mean to each other. With every stroke of the brush, our love will be indelibly and immortally etched into eternity.”

  She gapes at me, and I realize I’ve tipped my hand in a big-ass way.

  Jumping to her feet, she places her palms flat against my chest, right over my fucking heart. “You love me?” she asks on a whisper.

  “Yes. More than I thought was humanly possible,” I say, seeing no point in denying it any longer. “It was love at first sight, but loving you is wrong. Forbidden. And so incredibly selfish. It’s your future and happiness that’s important, not mine. I shouldn’t be here in your house. I shouldn’t be touching you. I shouldn’t be doing this,” I groan, dipping my head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Violet Driscoll

  I’VE BEEN KISSED JUST once before. It happened on a summer night a lot like this one after a baseball game. Moon Crescent High School had won the state championship, and everyone was in a celebratory mood. I was leaving the field when the star pitcher, Samuel Linden, grabbed me en route to the parking lot and pulled me behind an oak tree. My heart raced but not in a good way as he pressed his soft, mushy lips against mine in a sloppy, saliva-filled smooch that made me gag.

  Rhett’s kiss is on the opposite end of the spectrum. With his hand gently but securely wrapped around my throat, he covers my mouth with his perfectly firm, pleasantly-dry lips. The feel of him is intoxicating. I’ve never drunk a drop of alcohol, but I’m convinced I’m drunk on the taste of this man.

  He doesn’t have to force or coax his way in. I willingly, eagerly open my mouth for his invasion. He sinks his tongue deep, punishing and rewarding me with beautifully-brutal, satiny strokes. His fingers press against the pulse points of my neck while his other hand cradles the back of my head, melding and welding me to him as I soar beneath the passion and fury of his sensual assault.

  On his tongue, the flavor of his inner struggle is intense. Rhett’s need to devour and possess while tethering and tying me in tenderness is strong and palpable. Every thought, worry or concern I have ever had melts away beneath his wild recklessness.

  Latching onto his flexing biceps, I dig my fingernails into solid muscle, surrendering to every curling caress of his tongue. I relish the ever-deepening licks and thrusts, the brushing of our lips, the heaving of our chests, the mixture of our low, muffled moans.

  In the distance, I faintly hear the honk of a horn, the cry of a cicada and the swirl of a summer breeze through tree leaves, but none of it touches me. The world and its inhabitants have been far removed from this blissful, monumental moment. The one where Mr. Calder kisses me like he is starving. Like I’m his lifeline, the only one who can keep him from drowning. He won’t tell me about the thing constantly trying to pull him under, but I know it’s there. I sense its dark, looming presence.

  Despite my need to understand, my mind is too fuddled to figure it out. All I can do is infuse him with love as he feeds from my lips. I don’t notice his hand releasing my throat until I feel his long fingers hungrily kneading the rounded flesh of my buttocks, pulling me hard against his washboard abs. I gasp at the sinful sensation of his erection throbbing against my drenching-wet pussy.

  I never want this connection to end. Needing to show him the depth of my desire, I kiss him back with a fevered madness that leaves me quaking inside. I’ve never been so bold. But my advances are soon muted by a resurgence of his. The aggressive sweep of his tongue and the crushing of my breasts against his chest make me pant.

  Without warning, he picks me up, sets me on the kitchen table and pushes me flat onto my back. I try to sit up, but his commanding voice halts my attempt. “Open your legs. I have to taste you.”

  I’m not wearing any panties, and my face burns like brimstone. “But I’ve never done this before. I—I’m not comfortable—”

  “No buts, Violet,” he says lifting my miniskirt and bunching it around my waist. “You’ll love me going down on you. I promise. And I’ll love being your first. Please try to relax and trust me.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  “That’s my good girl.”

  I’m so nervous, my stomach does triple somersaults. But the closer his mouth moves to my pussy, the more I wonder what it will be like to have Rhett’s tongue on me.

  His breath against my overheated flesh feels like a cool breeze, making me shiver. When his hands slide up my ribcage to cup my breasts, I close my eyes and cling to the sleeves of his dress shirt.

  Planting gentle kisses on the insides of my thighs, he whispers, “I’m going to lick you into oblivion. To bury my tongue inside your sweetness.”

  Oh, God. This man is filthy. His dirty talk is so hot, I just might incinerate from the sound of his voice.

  The first lash of his velvety-soft and dexterous tongue has my thigh muscles bunching beneath his touch. In a matter of seconds, I have so quickly changed my mind about oral sex I’ve nearly given myself whiplash. How could I have had any hesitation about something that feels this insanely good? I am no longer embarrassed. No longer resisting. I love it! I want more of this!

  His tongue is so skillful, swirling and dipping, teasing and worshiping. Gaining confidence in his ability and my acceptance, I move my hips in time with his thrusts. Nothing has ever felt better.

  Removing his mouth from me, he groans, “God, woman. You taste so fucking good.”

  My breath catches at his declaration. I glance down between my legs, appreciating Rhett’s beauty anew. He is unbelievably handsome with his dark, unruly hair and his smoldering eyes. Locking his gaze onto mine, he licks his lips before dipping his head again.

  With every lick and lap, I’m overwhelmed with tummy-tightening, spine-tingling sensations. The sensual manipulations of his mouth cause a spiral of fireworks in my core. My breasts feel heavy. My nipples ache. I’m so close to the precipice of unchartered pleasure. All I have to do is let go. To trust Rhett. Panting and gasping, I push my pussy harder against his face. Just one more lick of my clit, and I’ll be there. As if he can read my mind, his tongue flicks hard and fast against me. I cry out my pleasure, exploding across a galaxy of climactically-infused stars.

  Abruptly, he steps back, leaving me dazed and confused.

  “Why are you pulling away from me?” I ask, hating the whiny sound of my voice.

  Rhett turns his back on me and death-grips the chipped edge of my decrepit Formica countertop. Remodeling the kitchen had been next on my dad’s to-do list. It’s another in a long line of things he will never get to do.

  Rhett growls, “Because I’m not in control right now. Because where I am in my head puts you in danger. Because I need to cook something for you to eat lest you become the meal.”

  The intensity of his voice is terrifying, and I tell him so. “You’re truly scaring me, Rhett.”

  “Good. You need to be scared. Go to your bedroom
, and lock the door. I can’t hold onto this counter much longer.”

  “But I want to stay here. I love you, Rhett.”

  “Loving me is toxic. I’ll poison you.”

  “That’s not true. You breathe life into me. Please let me help you.”

  “You can’t. All you can do is save yourself. Now go, goddamn it! Run and don’t come back until I call you.”

  Despite my trembling legs, I grab my phone and dash down the hallway. His kisses have made me so weak, I don’t know if I can make it up the stairs. Every step is a struggle. Finally, I reach the top. My knees buckle, and I practically fall into my bedroom. Gasping for breath, I press my back to the wall and slide down to the floor. My arm feels like lead as I reach up and turn the lock on the doorknob.

  For a few interminable minutes, I can only hear the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. But as my breathing calms, I catch a soft, murmuring sound. Remembering the return vent in the far corner of my bedroom is closest to the kitchen, I crawl over to it and open the grate. The sound of Rhett’s agonizing voice makes me want to weep.

  Get it together. Stop fucking pacing like a damn imbecile. Violet is safe in her room. You can do this. You can cook for her without counting the tiles on the floor. Without washing your hands until they bleed. You can make her a meal and nourish her beautiful body without losing your mind. Just do it, damn it! Do it for her.

  I can’t hold the tears back as my brain scrambles to piece this puzzle together. Listening to the noises below, everything starts to come into focus. The sound of a knife on the chopping block, cutting for a count of sixteen, then starting again. The tapping of his penny loafers across the floor for ten steps, stopping then repeating. The refrigerator door being opened and closed six times. I can visualize every move he is making. Every motion is wrapped in a sequence of even numbers.

  The man who has stolen my heart battles a demon like no other. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is the faceless bastard tormenting Rhett’s soul. In my advanced-placement psychology class, four whole chapters were dedicated to the subject. Now I realize what plagues the man I love. The way he was studying his feet the night he crashed into me at the rodeo makes perfect sense now. Most likely, he was counting his steps or the footsteps of others or trying to keep from stepping into previously made footprints or maybe even trying to step directly on top of them.